


Five Times Cuddy Was Right

by leiascully



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Community: cuddy_fest, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-09
Updated: 2007-08-09
Packaged: 2017-10-03 06:25:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leiascully/pseuds/leiascully
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Cuddy was right and House was wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Cuddy Was Right

**Author's Note:**

> Timeline: various  
> A/N: For Cuddy_fest the first.  
> Disclaimer: _House M.D._ and all related characters are the property of Shore Z, Bad Hat Harry, and Fox. No profit is made from this work and no infringement is intended.

01\. "There is no way you can keep the leg," she said. "Not the way it is. House, you have to see reason."

"It's my leg," he gasped. "Not gonna...give you the satis...faction. Stuff it for your...collection."

It was late. Stacy was dozing on the couch in Cuddy's office, having finally been convinced to leave House's side.

"Like I need any trophies from you," she said.

"Take 'em...anyway. Witch."

"House," she said sharply, and he looked at her involuntarily. Pleasure burned in her for a moment: that was the voice that had gotten her the brand new office, the nameplate, the deference from the other doctors. "You know me. Do you think I want to do this to cause you pain? You can't keep the leg. You'll die."

"So...let me...die."

"No."

"Bad for...statistics?" He cocked his head at her, wincing at the tug of the cannula over his cheekbones.

"House!" She dropped her clipboard in Stacy's chair and threw up her hands. "You are such a stubborn bastard."

"'s why...I'm so...popular."

She sat on the edge of his bed, her hand on his knee, the knee she wanted to lop off. "You'll die."

"Or...I'll be right."

"Not this time," she said, and picked up her clipboard, and left.

The next day, when the whine of the paddles filled her ears, there was a touch of righteousness and satisfaction behind the worry and the anger. She was right. And he had been wrong. And she wasn't going to let him do this anymore.

\+ + + +

02\. "She's going to leave you," Cuddy said, watching House curl himself around the base of the toilet, his face wedged under the toilet paper holder.

"She won't," he said. His voice was a hoarse rattle. "Guilt. She's bound down tighter than a dominatrix's first client. She'll stay here until we kill each other." He heaved himself up a little, gagged over the bowl, and slid back down when nothing happened.

"House, Stacy is going to leave you." She shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat. "Soon."

"Jealous?" He cracked one eye at her. Even through the haze of pain and drugs, his gaze was still startlingly sharp and blue. "She's never going to leave."

"She got an apartment in New York," Cuddy said. "Why do you think she's been away so much?"

"Work," he said dismissively.

"I'm not telling you this because I want to hurt you, House."

He coughed. "No, you accomplished that pretty effectively already."

There was the slow burn of guilt inside her again. She concentrated on it, envisioned turning up the simmer until the flames raged high and turned into anger. It was the work of a second these days; there was a time it had taken her hours, but it was the only way to deal with House when he was this way. Anger was all the shield she had left, but she had something. It was why she was here. It was why Stacy wasn't.

She didn't blame Stacy. All the good, all the joy in House seemed to have been excised along with the muscle or coughed up and flushed away.

"Get out," he snarled, not looking at her.

She left, but she'd be back.

\+ + + +

03\. "So I hired this idiot," House said without preamble, stomping into her office. "Rowan Chase's son."

"He'll be good," Cuddy said, not looking up. Eye contact only encouraged him. "Robert Chase, right? I saw his résumé. Why you need an intensivist, I'm not sure, but I'm glad you hired someone. I'm sure he'll suit you fine."

"You owe me three days off clinic duty." He crashed onto her couch.

"For what, exactly?" She really needed to remind the nurses about the new standards for chart maintenance. Of course, it was probably the doctors.

"For giving in to your demands and hiring an idiot for my team."

"He won't be an idiot," she said. "He'll be fine. You'll be glad he's around. He'll regret it long before you do."

House snorted. "I hired him because Rowan Chase called. Have you even seen the kid? He's either colorblind or trying to bring the surf ethic into argyle vests."

"If you have a team now, go forth and diagnose. I've got work to do."

"I despise you," he said, and left. "I'm going to regret this. I should have hired a redhead. A busty one."

"Someday you'll be glad you hired him!" she called after him.

"Next time I'm hiring a woman based on her looks alone!" he shouted back.

"Whatever you have to do," she muttered to her desk.

\+ + + +

04\. "He needs a new liver!" House said dramatically, slapping his palms down on her desk as she read the file he'd thrown at her.

"He doesn't," she said, frowning at the charts.

"He's got dietary fat intolerance. He's losing weight at the speed of sound."

"You are right about that. At least partially."

"The indicators are there," he argued. "He's got tenderness in the flank, he's got headaches, he's got mood instability, he's got nausea."

"He's got a tumor in his adrenal gland," she said. "Look at this adrenaline reading in his blood test. It's elevated."

"_Slightly_ elevated," House sulked. "It's his liver."

"He's twelve," she said. "Even this kind of elevation is significant. He's a latchkey kid. All he eats is junk food. There's your toxic liver. Do a twenty-four hour urine test."

"I'll do it," said Chase, who had been standing in the corner of the room. He pushed off the wall and disappeared.

"Kiss-ass," House muttered.

"At least somebody here knows what they're doing. And here I thought you were a nephrologist." She flashed him a grin and closed the file with a satisfying snap.

"The adrenals are _on top_ of the kidneys," he muttered. "They don't count."

She sat back down. "Too bad. I was giving time off clinic duty for people who weren't sore losers."

"I just hate it when you make sense," he said.

"Get used to it." She put her feet up on the desk. "And get out there. You've got clinic duty in five minutes, and if Nurse Previn catches you with that tv again, I'm confiscating it and writing a new clause into your contract."

"I hope somebody drops a house on you," he said.

"Stop propositioning me and go do your job," she said.

\+ + + +

05\. "You like me," she said.

"In your dreams," he said.

"I have better things to do than dream about you."

"Any dream about you," he began, and she glared at him. "You take the fun out of everything."

"Nevertheless, you enjoy my company."

"I despise you and everything you stand for."

"Good thing I'm not standing," she said. He huffed a laugh into her hair and pulled her closer under the covers. She smiled into the pillow. It was so restful to be right.


End file.
